Aught, no. 10 (2003)


Thomas Fink

Perfume Cloaks

glamour lineage. Holidays are vacuuming
a

frantic peace.
The monologue emporium--clogged with
seconds.

Mad waiters
untuning provenance. Are you fit
to
understand refuse

bobbing for reclamation? Claiming seam,
we
only center;
to curve otherwise would be
less
than comfort.

Yet hair rises without a
pre-
approved symmetry.
Whatever soda rises out of

some
unmarked geyser
usually goes standard before moths

can
interrogate that

skeleton you call a syllabus.

 

My Dear Bank,

we tour the caviar mirage
until it's hacked.
Squamous greenhouse
breathing debt.
Your aggregate

gapes.
Socratic dealership hats
strictly invisible.
Under partition circumstance,
tom-tom furnace.

Arctic fast—
involuntary.
Hard-up night

throws me a tarantula
slipcover consolation.

 

Dented Reprise I

Debts crank on

to flood this cot
as a roof is downed--

to be flies.
And all the ploy
within you dries.

Looking past indenture
and whatever stuns our tray,
shovel the blanket
on which we speed.
Hey, blistered tangerine can,

to slip a blight's bland tango,
please allow me to reproduce myself
in a pan of stealth and haste.

To be an antic phone,
to compete unzoned,

like a boiling loan.


Copyright 2003, by the author. All rights reserved.
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